


Bitter from the Sweet

by corn_stain



Category: Le magasin des suicides | The Suicide Shop (2012)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Child Abuse, Complicated Relationships, Dark fic, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, The only fanfic in a non-existent fandom, Underrated Movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 22:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8941840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corn_stain/pseuds/corn_stain
Summary: While the entire Tuvache household is getting ready for bed, Mishima talks with Alan before both of them could go to sleep.(Set after Alan makes his father laugh with the canon movie!ending not mentioned. Very minor spoilers.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not exaggerating when I tagged that this is probably the ONLY fanfic of this movie. Seriously, this is a criminally underrated movie ~~which I've watched three times in a week, DON'T JUDGE~~.
> 
> I guess I should admit that I only write fanfics when I fall in love with some male character (case in point, the dad) because I'm thirsty and need to get a life. [shrugs]

Mishima slowly opened the door of Alan’s bedroom to see if he was still awake. It seemed that he was seeing that the child noticed him.

"Good evening, Papa," greeted Alan, cheerful as ever.

"Good evening, Alan," greeted Mishima back. "May I come in?"

"Sure."

Mishima went inside and closed the door, locking it discreetly.

Everyone was getting ready for bed, both he and Alan clad in pajamas. Mishima's was covered with a pink robe though.

"Do you mind if I sit beside you?" asked Mishima, gesturing towards the side of his bed where Alan sat up.

"No. Go ahead!"

So he sat down, plunging half the mattress down with his body. Before Alan could ask him what brought him to his son's room, he began to speak making it seem like he had answered in advance.

"I want to talk to you."

Still smiling, Alan focused his attention on his father.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm alright," answered Alan, who simply smiled. "How about y—"

"That's all? That's all you have to say?" Mishima was incensed all of a sudden when he turned to face him.

"Well... it's not like there are any wrong answers, unless I'm lying, which I'm not," explained Alan, sheepishly.

"I'd think that you'd be a least bit shaken after your own father basically attempted to kill you just now!"

"Oh. So you _did_ mean to do that."

"How could it be otherwise?"

He made himself comfortable by crossing his legs on the bed he sat on and continued:

"You ruined a business that goes back to three generations! A business that could've thrived for generations to come once we pass it down to you! Then you'll pass it down to your children and then your children will pass it down to their children and— ah, so on and such, you get the point! The Tuvache family worked very hard to keep on going for this long, for business to thrive, until... until..."

"Until I came along, right?"

Mishima breathes deeply then continues: "...You have no idea how much your happiness brings a thorn in my heart!"

"Did you just want me, Marilyn and Vincent to be miserable for the rest of our lives?"

"Yes."

Alan was taken aback by how bluntly his father answered that question. He insisted to himself that his father certainly didn't mean that.

"Papa, why?"

"Because it's emotions like misery, bitterness, sorrow, the feeling of having nothing that brings character! It's the will to fight it that gives us more strength! It's misery that keeps us together! Misery, once everything is said and done, will be what's left of our empty shells and we should keep it close in our hearts. After all, misery loves company, no?"

Alan began to smile, much to Mishima's confusion.

"So, I guess attempting to kill me in front of our entire family was your way of trying to make me miserable, yeah?" he said, hopeful.

"It was actually my way of being rid of you once and for all but whatever helps you sleep tonight, I guess."

Something new was rising up in his chest; a feeling that he never experienced before. It was like he was thrown upward, expecting to be caught, only to actually fall flat on his face. And it was the particular expression on Alan's face that caught his father's attention.

"You don't mean that," said Alan, denying.

Mishima had to turn his head to hide his smirk.

Alan tugged on his father's sleeve and whined, "Papa... Papa!"

As much as it pleased him to hear the desperation in his son's voice, he had to contain himself and turned back to look at him squarely in the face.

Alan grabbed both of his father's arms. "Don't you love me, Papa?"

He looked at his father, waiting for him to speak. He interpreted his silence as an answer. And with every answer he received from him gave him emotions that he didn't ever want to feel.

Tears began to form in his eyes which he stubbornly wiped away before they ran down on his cheek. Alan pressed his wrists on the corner of his eyes to stop them but they proved to be futile when he began to choke out sobs. He fell on his father's chest to muffle it.

But it was just too much.

Alan cried.

Mishima smiled at the crying heap before him that was his son. The child's small fists began pounding on him when he tried to rub his back. His one hand reached under his shirt to feel his chest.

"I hate you..."

Both of them seemed a bit surprised but it was Alan who expressed it more vividly. He couldn't believe that those words just came out of his mouth. That was something that no child should _ever_ say to their parent.

"Papa, I didn't..."

"It's alright," said Mishima. "You're upset and you hate this feeling. So you're saying hurtful things."

Mishima then distanced his gaze as he spoke.

"When you made me laugh, and you gave me hope... and you gave me the will to live. Oh, Alan, how could you put your poor old father through that?"

"Papa, you're confusing me!" Alan was still in tears. "You're scaring me, too."

Mishima grinned at him. "Oh really? If you think you feel that way right now..."

Alan was pushed down on his back when his father's large, bony, hands pinned his shoulders to the mattress. They then moved to wring his tiny neck where he remained helpless as the air being pushed out of his body made it difficult to remove the deathly grip off of him.

He looked at the image of his father, which was starting to fade. A psychotic grin on his face and his dark, usually coiffed hair was all mussed up. He closed his eyes, feeling a flash of white coming to him sooner than he wanted.

Then he felt the hands disappear from his neck.

Mishima watched his son cough while more tears from his eyes flowed out. The child fought to breathe again. Alan glared at him.

He jerked forward and Alan recoiled quickly. A sinister laugh escapes him.

Against Alan's consent, he pulled him into an embrace, kissing him on both cheeks and placing one tiny peck on his lip. He proceeded to run his fingers through his messy, ginger hair, making them look unrulier than usual.

Alan had half the mind to slip away from his father's grip and had a hand on his arm, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He hoped that the touch didn't give his father any ideas.

Mishima thought it was a gentle message telling him not to let go just yet.

"Did you really think that I don't love you?"

"W-what is it then?" asked Alan, his voice reedy and stuttering. "Tell"—Alan coughs—"Tell me!"

"I'm positive that either answer will not satisfy you, I'm afraid."

Mishima stood up, ready to walk away.

"Papa, no!" Alan reached for his father. "Please, don't go yet!"

"Why? Have you something to say?"

He shook, rubbing his arms. Looking down on his knees, he begged faintly:

"Please... hold me, Papa. Hold me again, please..."

Mishima observed the time. It was getting late. But tomorrow _was_ going to be a weekend and none of the kids have school anyway…

"Gee, why don't I climb into your sheets while we're at it?"

Alan took the rhetorical question literally and offered the space, pulling his blanket upward. His father took the spot and climbed right in. Rather than being held like before in the very same way, he felt his legs underneath his backside, pushing them upward until he was on top of his lap. It was so close as to be... almost unnatural and wrong.

Mishima wiped a lone tear that dried up on Alan's cheek.

"Now now, enough of that," he said. His hot breath in Alan's ear, he whispered, "If you tell anyone about this, especially your mother... I'll kill you. Do you understand?"

Alan froze.  But he answered just the same: "Yes, Papa."

 

**-FIN-**

**Author's Note:**

> I like portraying Mishima as a sociopath who hates joy and has well-controlled homicidal tendencies. Why? Cause. Anyway, here's my advanced Christmas present to whom it may concern.
> 
> Merry Christmas!


End file.
